By David Colton
TEMPE, AZ — It was like trying to stop a forest fire with a single travel-sized bottle of lotion.
As the 26-year-old barreled down side streets and through alleys, he engaged in a 4-hour marathon round of the popular collegiate inebriation game “Edward Fortyhands.”
No seatbelt, no hands holding the steering wheel and no fucks given — Tyler’s three signature rules, which he has tattooed across his back, ended up being his downfall.
Notoriously a man of Christ, Tyler was always one to push divine limits. The necklace around his rearview mirror was tasked with a tall order that fateful day as soon as he left the house at 7 a.m. that morning. The first thing Tyler did was buy a six-pack of NOS energy fluid and shotgunned them in between cigarettes.
“That boy liked to test God,” said Divinity Faith Johnson, who watched Tyler as he attempted to make a left turn at 97 mph, “It was clear he was trying to do a U-turn for the Subway along the highway. That’s the one that doesn’t even have the Italian Herbs & Cheese bread. It’s just sad.”
From the very beginning, it was a daunting task for the 2007 Ford Fiesta.
A gift from mom’s old boyfriend, Tyler’s little car (which he named “Heavenleigh”) was taken for granted the second the boy received the keys.
“My Tyler has never been one to learn new things,” said Bernard Baubleman, Tyler’s 89-year-old father, “Except, of course, when I taught him how to cry.”
Tyler unequivocally denies learning this lesson from his aging father. At least, he did. When he tried to make that fateful 97 mph turn, he was ejected immediately and crashed through the front window of that Subway, where he would eventually ask to be taken off of life support.